


A Dress For The Ice Queen

by Harebourg



Category: Dofus, Wakfu
Genre: AU, F/M, Frigost, Pre-Freeze Frigost, Pre-Frost Frigost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harebourg/pseuds/Harebourg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If not for the already multitude of failed attempts with the Count, then it was the secondary element of chaos that is Sylargh that would set her back by 10 feet. She will use this "birthday party" of the Count as another chance with him, but she can't do it without a formal attire that's suitable for the event, and conveniently, there exists a shoemaker that may be of assistance to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dress For The Ice Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Went through a proof reading on this fic in 2016. Man, there was so much to be fixed, but I'm very proud of this fic :)

After a fast-moving month of preparation, today was the pinnacle of grandeur, the upholding of magnificence and honor, the show that welcomes the fruitful and the flamboyant!– oh, but minus the gobball blood bath and whips.

It was Klime’s suggestion for the events to be held on the Count’s anniversary, hosted by the people due to popular demand and was later picked up officially, of being alive. His ideas of an "actual party" were sadly and quickly shot down by both the Count and the general, vanilla majority. 

They honestly don’t know what experience they’re holding themselves from!

Klime sighs to himself. Even progress on their water tower was disrupted for this. Instead of making steel toed boots for the workers and strapping down materials for usage, he’s been withered down to a simple decorator for the multitude of rooms in the castle that house the celebration. He couldn’t help but let out another huff in irritation at his temporary demotion as he dusted off the corners of a table with his fingers. 

Treading down the windowed hallways of the Count’s castle, he figures that making at least one more lap around the perimeter to check for any discrepancies in his patterns would occupy enough time for the events to begin.

The shoemaker stops occasionally to hoist himself onto a window’s ledge and shift the top red and gold ribbons into their proper places. He spares a quick glance outside into the fields and villages of Frigost basking in the orange glow of dawn. He’s not going to lie: the very first thing he noticed upon stepping on the island for the first time was the beautiful frameworks of their agriculture– it doesn’t take an actual farmer to see every crop imaginable dexterously aligned in both efficient and harmonious formations. The beautiful sight even inspired a personal design by him that he began working on as soon as he was shown his working area. The same pattern sheet was collecting dust somewhere in his collection, being only an impulse of motivation. Regardless, it was still good to have a good working ethnic in your new livelihood and hideaway.

Satisfied with his adjustments, he hops back down and shots a glimpse at the grand clock outside. "6:23 PM" it reads; the party will be officially starting in roughly 2 more hours. The last time he was on the main floor, there were already people arriving early and are probably sightseeing his wonderfully adorned rooms.

Not seeing anymore disorders in the perimeter, the man dusts off his gloved hands and ponders what else to do for two hours. He lets out a quiet "Hm" while running through the theme of each room that he’s been in his head. Everything was as perfect as it could and should be, Klime concluded. The shoemaker takes a dip into another hallway away from the windows, finding the stairs that would lead him back to the ground floor.

Just as he makes for the steps downward, he hears the tapping of angry footsteps acceding, unnecessarily loud and clanking with metal hitting the stone floor. Nobody except the interior staff of himself and a few other side workers were supposed to be in the upper floors. Klime steps sideways out of line of sight from the approaching foreign entity and draws his large sewing hand from his side, ready to incappacitate the potential intruder. As the steps grow louder, Klime hears the mumbling of a familiar voice. The other person skips a few steps, no longer finding patience in taking the stairs one at a time, their cape making an obnoxiously loud flapping sound as their movements swing it about. The unknown source bursts from the entrance of the stairs, causing Klime to flinch at the sudden figure. 

The shoemaker’s guess was-- unfortunately-- right.

Kya, Missiz Freezz, stops in place, giving Klime one of her abundance of death glares. “Move out of the way, leather louse!” She moves to the crafter and roughly shoves him into the stone wall as she walks past.

Klime was a sadist– not a masochist. Not tolerating her "more irritated then usual" mood, Klime pushes himself off the wall and pursues behind the Xelor. He cuts in front of her and lashes, “Oh dearest Ice Queen–what makes you think you are free to disrespect me like that?”

The Xelor’s face flashes a mixture of surprise and confusion. It’s not often someone tries to oppose the "Ice Witch". The almost impressed expression quickly twists to one of sheer anger. Kya leashes her hand around the collar of the shoemaker, yanking him forward. Klime mirrors the same action, taking a hold of Kya’s top that hides the bottom half of her face, unintentionally tugging at the stitchings of the collar.

Noses almost touching from the downward drag of the other, both parties struggle to not throw the first punch, knowing that they are still being surveyed by the Count even if his presence wasn’t known. As the moment extends, Kya gradually increases the strength of her hold, forcing Klime to raise from his heels due to her height. Not dithered, he lets a low growl escape him with his dwindling patience. The Xelor blinks and shakes her head, giving away a disgusted "ugh" before pushing away Klime, still holding his white collar. The abrupt pushback unbalances the sadist and causes his own grip on Kya to loosen. She takes advantage of the opening of weakness to snatch the wrist closest to her face with her other open hand and pries it free from herself. 

Now with her collar free, she shoves the shoemaker into the wall again as before, though he was much more prepared this time and didn’t look as satisfying to watch to Kya as he hits the wall.

“You’re not worth my time, louse,” she spits. She spends a moment fixing her shirt, her spark of anger alit again when she sees her ruined stitching.

“What’s up your ass all the time?” Klime asks as he checks his own damaged attire. Even with the new stretch marks and wrinkles from Kya, Klime was thankful it was only his usual outfit and not the celebration’s, else he would’ve been really hearing it from Harebourg.

Kya, completely ignoring the question as it was never heard, jerks to Klime and holds out her collar with split stitching on both sides. “Look at what you did, you Iop-brained incompetent…” Klime simply shuts out Kya at this point begins to turn his head away until the stitches began to stretch further apart from its parental blue-grey cloth by Kya’s pulling. Even as insufferable that Kya could be, he can't help but feel remorse for the threading that was unjustly caught in the crossfire. 

As a mender of fabrics, there was a period in his life, a long time ago, where he would feel sorrow for all the broken things and attempt to fix them to near-perfect condition with the same sewing needle he has now. Placing a finger on the needle on his belt, he thinks to himself, "Heh, that instinct never really left me."

Klime disregards his own safety and swiftly moves to the edges of Kya’s collar where the string emerged from. The smithmagus cuts herself off at the sudden close proximity of the shoemaker. She's speechless and found herself frozen while feeling the needle puncture her collar and tighten the thread around it. Klime worked with only the minimal amount of thread he needed. He won't be able to stay this close for long until Kya catches up and introduced him to "The Void", or whatever the specialty of an angry Xelor was. With one last loop, he narrows into her neck and bites off the extra string, finishing his repair for one side. Upon the sound of the string being snapped, Kya regains her composure and pushes the leather dealer away before laying her hands on the collar that he worked on.

The man easily mitigates the push and smoothly transitions to a straight posture. With the look of nonchalant, he comments, “Is this pushing thing a kink of yours?”

The smithmagus runs her fingers over the newly added strings on top of her old ones. Though she can’t feel much through the bandages, she could tell that the new stitching was well done through a few small tugs. She moves her focus back to the shoemaker, sending a glare of "don’t come any closer".

“As wonderfully annoying as you are, Missiz Freezz, I can’t bear it when I am responsible for the undoing of a guiltless garment,” he nods to the side corresponding to the other springed stitches of her shirt, “I’m willing to repair the other side aswell.”

Kya quickly scans the leather dealer from head to toe judgmentally, looking for any ill intentions. She takes a step back, seeing that he means well, but she’s unwilling to let him near her again. “This shirt will have to be burned after your filthy hands touched them,” she growls.

Klime clenches his fist holding the sewing needle, wanting to throw it at the ungrateful woman like a dart, but he manages to refrain from doing so. “Well then… just what are doing up here anyway?”

Kya pats down her shirt to erase the more obvious evidence of the brief confrontation. “That’s none of your business,” she says as she turns to walk down the hallway, purposely flinging her cape towards the man.

Klime clicks his tongue in frustration and follows the steps of the Xelor, picking up pace to walk beside her. “Except, my dear Kya, it is.” The Xelor doesn’t even spare a glance, instead letting out a grunt in annoyance at the unwanted tag along. “As the interior decorator and supervisor-” Kya scoffs at his self declaration of the latter, but lets him continue “-I need to make sure that everything about this fine celebration today goes as planned...” Klime cuts in front of Kya, this time with a decent distance between them, “...and that includes knowing why a particular rock-loving Xelor that is not permitted in the upper levels is here.”

Klime waits in front of the smithmagus for an answer, placing his hands behind him and straighter his posture. Kya attempts to weave past the shoemaker, knowing that the next time she touches the man with her patience burned out, it would get her in trouble with the Coun. Klime steps back in the way, mirroring the Xelor's movements, seemingly intentionally wanting to provoke attack with his smug expression. She grits her teeth and squeezes the fabric of her gloves from her balled palms. “I’m looking for a reception uniform after the little brat Sylargh decided to sabotage me and my chances with the Count– now move!”

Klime spreads out his arms in to both astonishment and to halt Kya from moving any further. “Wait, wait, hold up– you do dresses?” Freezz’s hands begin to shake in irritation. “I can help you with that.” Kya’s angry face shifts to the look of bemusement. “As sudden as this may seem, I’ve been looking for a… subject, if you will, to preview the numerous gowns I’ve imported from my old lands. The ladies of Frigost aren’t exactly what I deem suitable for my clothing line, but you, Missiz Freezz, are not from Frigost…” 

Knowing how this discussion will end up– the perverted thoughts of Klime– Kya reels up her elbow and dives it to Klime’s head, briefly forgetting about needing the Count’s approval. The elbow ends up hitting the forearms of the shoemaker who was completely prepared for retaliation to his proposition. Klime clicks his tongue and takes a step back, hands held up in a yield. “I guarantee you that there’s a dress that the Count would get on his knees for.”

The shoemaker watches the smithmagus take a deep breath and lower her arms. He takes a mental note of using the Count’s name as a tactical advantage when dealing with Missiz Freezz for future usage.

“Do you, worm?” Kya questions. Freezz couldn’t deny the fact that Klime was indeed a master of his trade, along with being decently good at the related professions, having seen a few of his branded clothing lines before.

Klime suppresses the tang of annoyance at her petty nick naming. “Oh yes, and I’m sure we can find it before Harebourg makes an appearance in…” Klime gives a quick glance back at the windows to look for the grand clock, though difficult to see from far away, he makes his best guess of “...an hour and a half. But we must make haste in case we need adjustments to the dress.”

Kya crosses her arms, giving a second thought to the idea. She begins tapping her foot– a gesture Klime couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. He opens his mouth to prompt his proposal again, but Kya cuts in front. “Well?” she barks. The Xelor takes a quick stride to the side of Klime and grabs his scruff to shove him forwards towards the stairs downwards. “Take me to your workshop!”

'Honestly?' thought Klime. He spins around to face Kya again. “Okay, this pushing thing is fine and even encouraged back in my private suite, but this is becoming a too-frequent quirk of yours,” he spins back around to head for the stairs, not bothering waiting for Kya to react. “Push me one more time outside of bounds and you can find your cheap bootleg gown from the taverns on your own,” he warns.

Kya only barely manages to hold back from "accidentally" bumping into Klime on the stairs.

—

“It’s not far at all, maybe 10 minutes of walking.” Kya follows closely behind the guide– a bit too close for his comfort, but he doesn’t say anything about it. After making past the increasingly overwhelming crowds by using the castle’s staff exclusive walkways, the duo splited apart from the surge of citizens and onto the the edges of the castle'a boarders where Klime’s private suite lies.

The woman lets out an annoyed grunt and treads ahead of her guide, already making a predetermined path to the shoemakers’s suite, turning her head to shout, “Hurry up!”

Her outburst caught the attention of a few stray civilians, not that they take part of any of her concerns. Klime takes notice of their newly gained attention. He’s already well renowned to the people for the strange parties he hosts, but who was this female companion dragging him around? He smirks to himself and thinks of the potential rumors that could be bred before trotting forwards to match Kya’s pace. “You can see my place now.” Klime informs the short tempered Xelor.

—

Klime takes a quick glance at the grand clock as he searches for the keys to his suite in his pockets. They have just over and hour to get the chosen dress and make it back just in time. Kya leans on one leg with arms crossed, her feet beginning to tap in irritation. Klime takes his time picking out his key and inserting it into the suite’s doorknob, just to fish out more reactions from the impatient smithmagus.

“Can you do nothing on your own?” Kya harshly nudges Klime out of the way to jiggle the key in herself. The key struggles to fit initially, but with one rough shove, the metal clicks through each pin inside the lock mechanism and awaits to be turned. “Who built this door, a bwork?” Kya mutters to herself. She breaches inside the suite without waiting for Klime, leaving the door open behind her.

Inside, the woman is greeted with a warm color scheme of golds and reds. Klime’s assortment of books and blueprints hang dangerously off their tables. Some were already shattered on the floor. Off to the side, a foreign-looking music record plays a song in stringed instruments and trumpets she’s not familiar with in a low volume. She sets herself in the middle of the workshop, already feeling comfortable with Klime’s choice of ornamentations, though she would prefer something more roomier. Klime steps in after tapping his heels on the ground to clear out any dirt, removing the key outside and closes the door accordingly. He takes notice of the radio and comments, “Whoops, forgot to turn that off.”

The woman scans around for the series of gowns that Klime advertised or another door that could lead to them, but only sees the multitude of tools one would expect a crafter to have and the occasional bloodstain of the floor. She huffs in frustration and turns to face the shoemaker, wanting an answer to her upcoming question of: “… Where are the garments?”

Klime holds up a finger to his lips in a 'silence’ gesture. “I don’t share my secrets to just any old coot that walks into my house without cleaning their shoes first.” Kya doesn’t let the offending phrase leave unscathed and raises her hand to conjure an ice dagger to throw. The sudden burst of energy summoned two instead, but it wasn't like she wouldn't be needed more daggers. 

Klime calmly walks towards her with a hand resting behind his back, still holding his other hand under his chin. Kya steps out of the way of the approaching crafter, threateningly flashing the pair of daggers inbetween her fingers. The man leans on the table that Kya was nearest before moving and reaches backwards to his measuring tape. “I need your measurements before I can narrow down the dresses usable.”

Kya stares down the man, arms lowered, but still holding onto her daggers. “Give me the tape and I’ll measure myself.”

Klime shakes his head, knowing that the ice queen was going to be difficult. “I’m afraid I don’t exactly trust a woman who spends their time examining rocks all day to give me accurate numbers. It also doesn’t do us any good wasting time getting the wrong sized dress when we clearly don’t have much to spare.” Klime crosses his arms with the tape mostly rolled up clutched in one hand. The rest of the measuring tool hung over his hand and laid over his arm. He awaited for Freezz’s response.

Kya clicks her tongue and looks away, aware that Klime has made a good point with the latter. She returns her gaze with an answer, “Then do it from a distance. If I feel your hands on me,” she holds up her daggers by their tips, “you’ll find yourself missing eyes.”

Shrugging off her threat, growing accustomed to Kya’s methods in their short time together, Klime swipes a black marker and bumps off the table to move to the same side of the room of the dual mirrors. “Step here,” he kicks away the stepping stool in the middle of the mirrors and pointed to the spot it used to be. A woman as tall as Missiz Freezz wouldn't need it.

Kya continues to eye Klime in suspicion as she makes her way to the particular space of the room. She kicks the stool further away and turns in place to have her sides show in the mirrors. “Kya, dear, I’ll need you to fully face me.” Klime stretches the tape in front of him to straighten it. “You also need to take off your clot-”

“No,” she firmly states, but obliges with his first request and turns to face Klime.

Klime doesn’t bother telling her that clothing does severely effect the measuring– she’s just going to need to deal with an extra tight corset. Klime extends the tape a hands length away from Freezz’s hips as she requested. He removes his gloves and rolls up his right sleeve, jolting down the numbers on his arm with a marker with his left hand. Kya observes the man proceeding to her waistline, thinking of how nice it would be to just kick him over from above. She lets out an amused huff from the thought and drifts her gaze to the unusual, custom made spiked chairs– not noticing Klime lightly push the measuring tape onto her stomach for more accurate measurements. Kya takes a moment to stretch, crossing an arm to the other side. Klime awaits for her to place her arms back down– noticing the potential bust sizes for the woman. She adjusts her bangs away from her right eye and covers her left with her hand as she returns to her previous posture. Looking back down, Klime was stretching the tape just over her chest. She lets out a warning growl as a reminder to not touch her.

“I must say, Missiz Freezz-” Klime spoke as he writes down her bust size, “-you’re quite a full-figured girl.” Klime holds up an end of the measuring tape up to the Xelor. “Hold this on your collar and we’ll be done from the front.” 

Kya, not finding Klime’s adjective of her insulting, complies and uses her middle and index fingers to press the tape onto her bandages above her chest. Klime lowers down to one knee to finish his measurements ending at the ankles of her legs.

Finished marking down the numbers on his arm, he stands back up and twirls his index, gesturing for his client to turn around. Kya sighs and does so, letting go of the tape, purposely letting a bit of her cape brush over Klime. The shoemaker rubs the side of his face, deciding weather to ask about the cape or not. He might as well try. “Kya, do you mind if you took off the cloak?”

Without answering, the Xelor reaches up to the left buckle of her cloak and presses the clasp, releasing it’s hold. One side of her cape drags down to her midsection and she proceeds to the other side. Klime, unsure exactly how close he’s allowed near Kya, keeps his hands hovered near the fabric so it doesn’t touch the floor. Once the second buckle gives, the cape drapes downwards into Klime’s grasp. He flaps it out once to properly fold it, momentarily admiring the rough but silky material used. Placing the mantle behind him on a stack of old leather sole designs, he turns back around to see the vest covered back of the forger.

“One last run, Missiz Freezz. I’ll need you to hold onto the end again.” Kya reaches behind her, waiting for her end of the tape to be handed over. The man holds it up for her to pin it, but to the inconvenience of Klime, she’s not pinning the end at the appropriate place. 

He groans loud enough for Kya to hear. “More to your left, Kya.” She moves it a bit too much to the left. “Lower.” Almost, but not quite to the preference of Klime. “Allow me a few seconds to adjust this myself– we only have an hour left.” Klime sees the Xelor’s fingers ball up at the idea, but she gradually lets her arm relax and lets out a sigh. Klime figures that’s as close as a permission from Kya that he’s going to get.

Scooting up closer, getting on his toes, he gently tugs her fingers downward to the right. Double checking to make sure that his placement is right, he drifts apart her hair from the spot the tape is set on. Kya looks back at him from the touch and flips her hair back in place, messing up the positioning of the tape. Klime quickly moves it back, already knowing where it should be, and trails downward to straighten the tape, stopping at the ankles of the woman. “That’s it." Klime yanks the tape down out of Kya’s hold and added, "Stay here and give me a few minutes to find a suitable dress and we’ll make any final adjustments to it then.”

Kya steps forwards and spins to face her tailor, looking at the shoemaker questionably. “I won’t be picking my own?”

“Time is of the essence. I promise you that I’ll be able to pick the perfect one much faster then you could on your own,” he responds while walking off to the back door of his suite, one that the smithmagus hadn’t notice before.

The Xelor watches as the designer slips past the door and into a darker room that she couldn’t inside. Left to wait, she moves herself towards one if the custom seats to examine it more thoroughly. This particular seat had old bloodstains that dripped down to the foots. The leather straps on the armrests, after lifting them up, had even more spikes underneath on both the leather and the armrest. 'This man is so strange…' she mumbles in her mind. With no further interest relating to the chair, she takes a seat on one of the wooden tables littered with leathers and tools and passes the time by going through Klime’s writings.

—

Klime closes the door he’s went through, purposely not allowing Kya to see anything behind it. This path doesn’t directly lead to his dedicated closet room, but he might as well take the long way to check up with his other clients. The door automatically locks itself from the inside upon initial entrance, the automatic chains and metal prods move in place, clicking as they activate. It can only be opened with Klime’s key now. Quickly treading through his dungeon-like setup, he passes by an occupied room of a chained up male sprawled out on the cold floor. He stepped backwards to peer into the room’s window again, to remember exactly who this was. Judging by the state of the individual, he’s forgotten to feed him for two days now. 'Well at least he contracted the harsh treatment plan anyway’ Klime reminds himself.

Finished with his survey, he travels back towards the entrance and takes a turn left that connects with the rest of his suite. He follows the same door procedures as before and steps into the gold and red room– a contrast of the dark and grey setting he was just in. The leather dealer reaches over to the light switch, needing the illumination since there wasn't enough daylight through the window to his satisfaction. He hears the switch click, but the lights were not lit. He tries again, flicking the switch repeatedly on and off with no positive results. “Really? You would burn out on me on this day out of three hundred and sixty-five days?” he complains aloud. 

Relying only on the dimming light that protruded by the refracting window, he pushes himself through the racks of garments that have either yet to be shown to the public or simply didn’t make it out to be marketed. He finds the spot where the he commonly sets his imports and pushes the other rolling racks away to give himself some space.

He takes a quick scan at the numbers on his right arm and begins to search for the section of dress sizes accordingly. Sadly, for Kya’s particular sizes, there isn’t much that correlate to the numbers on his arm. He creates some leisure thresholds due to the woman’s refusal to remove her clothes for a more accurate reading, but it still doesn’t expand the amount of available garments by much.

Creating a crevice upon the sides sizes usable for organization, Klime formulates a color scheme that would fit for the star blonde waiting for him outside while flipping through his options. 

Peach? No, it may look good, but her attitude would soil the bashful color. Red? It nicely complements her hair, but her blue eyes would make too much of a contrast and would hurt to look at. Primary and general warm colors are knocked out.

There were only 3 potential dresses left. A honey yellow, white frilled wrap dress– wait, wrap dress? That automatically eliminates it as formal wear. The remaining two are a deep purple extended cocktail with black threading and a pitch black sheath dress with strong bright blue lacings that curve down the sides and back. Klime quickly decided that the black would be the safest in color compatibility and unique appearance– nothing a bit of accessories couldn’t brighten with the sodden nature of the monochrome hue.

Plucking the selected dress from the rack, Klime readjusts the other garments back into evenly gapped spaces so they wouldn’t lose their form by being squished against another. He lifts the dress up for a quick, final examination. The laces across the boarders were wonderfully designed in blue abstract waves and the bottom that covers over the knees shyly glitter at the faintest light. Though not Klime’s personal preference in aesthetics, he could tell, after a few more additions he has in mind for this dress, that Missiz Kya Freezz would look stunning in this.

—

Kya skims through her third leather book. There was nothing of interest in these leather making guide books to her other then the occasional foot header left by Klime. She notes that the man is potentially a music lover, from the occasional note signs in a tune and names of their titles. 

What was taking this louse so long? There was no clock in the private suite that she was aware of, not that a Xelor would need it, but she could tell that their threshold in time is shortening. She tosses the book aside and strides towards the door the shoemaker disappeared behind. Despite hearing it click into lock when he went in, she still tried the doorknob anyway. Upon failure to turn, she yanks and knob back and fourth to test the fortitude of the door. From the jingling of chains from within and it’s resistance to movement– 'Did this man seriously invest all of the funds on his suite for this door?' she said her mind. It would explain why the door in front of the workshop was so shoddy.

A clicking noise from behind causes Kya to quickly avert her attention to it. Her ice daggers have begun melting and are soaking into the bandages on her hand, but as long as they still hand their points, they’re still usable. The other door (how many doors does Klime camouflage?) is kicked open and the leather dealer reveals himself carrying her supposed 'perfect’ dress with upmost care.

“I hope you’ve changed your bandages recently,” he comments at the look of the slightly dank hand of the Xelor. Kya dismisses her daggers and lets them break apart onto the floor. She dries the water from her bandages by letting it heat up from the inside and waves off the hot energy when she feels that it is done. Klime walks over to his changing closets, still holding the dress in his arms, and instructs, “Change in here– that means your original clothing need to come off. Be careful with this, I prefer to keep my collection free of holes, stains, and bits of used tissue.”

Kya clicks her tongue at the disdainful tone but steps over to receive the dress anyway. She flips her hair at the man as they make the transition and chooses her changing room at an end, briskly pulling the curtains behind her when she enters.

Klime crosses his arms and ponders about his own formal attire. He’s going to be introduced late into the celebration anyway; he didn’t need to be fussing over what to wear right now. He turns around and walks over to the front of his suite to meet the Amaknan radio on his window he’s never been able to toss, despite how outdated it was. Thinking about it now, this object has been through some really hard times with him– including that mess of a murder that made him flee from the nations. He found himself smiling in reminiscence at the not-so-plesent memory and leans onto a nearby wall. 

He shifts his attentions to the music record still spinning the same tune that had been playing while he was away. He picked up the needle and folds it to the side, which also stopped the spinning. He picked up the record with both hands, it's size and aged called for some careful handling. He flips the record over to the other side-- it wasn't exactly in prime condition, the back had numerous noticeable scratches, denting the rainbow that record usually reflected, but it should still be able to play. He presses the large disk back into the gramophone.

The record automatically spins as the record clicked into place. Klime returned the needle to the edge of the black surface to let it sing out the music that was embedded into it. The new some was much slower then the other one. It held a theme of calmness, and even romance. He found amusing for such song to be playing in the presence of his angry-at-everything client, but it is not that the song was being played for that element anyway.

From the tops of the changing room, Klime hears the original clothing of the Xelor flip onto the edges to hang overhead as she gets ready to put on the dress. “Let me know if you need help putting it on, it’s supposed to be a two person job anyway,” he says behind him in a louder then default volume over the music. He is given a scornful "Ugh"from the Xelor in response. 

The man lets out a huff of amusement, not really expecting any other reception from that woman. Giving credit where it’s due– Kya was certainly a "different" girl then what he has commonly dealt with before.

“The dress you’ve chosen is too tight!” Kya exclaims as she steps out, holding the zipper to the side of her collar together with her hand.

Klime rolls his eyes, back still turned on his client. “Is it honestly my fault that my client refuses to take my advice– it’s actually a necessary step–” he turns back around “– to have everything off to get an accurate…” 

Klime would be disgracing all 12 gods if he were to lie right now: Missiz Freezz looked absolutely breathtaking. Without her armor of a robe, the gown comfortably (from what he can see) fitted her frame, perhaps too tightly in some areas, it was easy the picture what was behind of what that is covered. Now if only the xelor wrappings were off..

He recovers from his brief pause and lays a hand under his chin, walking to the middle of the room to get a better look at the alternative angles of his model.

Unsure what the man was doing, she spins correspondingly to let Klime only see her front. “What are you doing?”

Klime stops in place, hand still under his chin, and answers with eyes still fixated on her midsection, “I’m supposed to do a full examination for the adjustments you need.” Which is half the truth. He holds out the hand under the chin and motions Kya to come to him. “Let me see what the issues are.”

Kya flips her hair, a habit that’s beginning to develop at her slight reluctance to do something, and walks over carefully with the dress limiting her movements, stopping just a arms length away from Klime. 

The crafter first waves over her hand that’s covering the stubborn zipper. She slowly lifts her fingers from the collar, obviously not wanting to let the man of strange tastes see a part of her neck. Thankfully, Klime holds together the two slips of cloth as she lets go and tightens it together. Kya lets out a grunt of discomfort at the too-tight hold it had on her chest. The man lets the cloth relax and shifts it to be held in one hand and he reaches behind him on his belt for a small pair of incisors.

Confused at the initial notion of "don’t mess up this dress" Kya leans away from the scissors pointed at her face and asks, “What are you cutting for?”

Klime belatedly answers after snipping a thread. “Giving you some more space to breathe, my dear.” 

Upon the string being released, she could feel the choking pressure around her chest lighten immensely. She lets out a sigh in relief that Klime does certainly know what he’s doing, briefly placing aside her negative opinions of the man from before. He zips up the side collar of the dress with minimal resistance. “Is this better?” Kya nods in a "yes". He pats does the rest of the collar to see if there was any problem with symmetry; it was all aligned. “Was there something else you wanted to change?” the tailor asks.

“The bottom half makes it difficult to move,” she demonstrates by taking a single step back, showing Klime the little distance she can cover with the current state of her gown.

Klime hums to himself, thinking of a solution. “I’m afraid that’s simply how the dress was made to be and normally it wouldn’t be a problem for a normal citizen as they’re not supposed to be running around anyway.” Kya gives Klime a weaker variant of a death glare. “Yes, yes, I know, Kya, you need to always stay on guard,” he phrases with sarcasm. 

He moves over to her left side and lowers down to one knee. Holding a piece of the bottom half touching her leg, he suggests, “We could cut this part-” he runs a finger up the cloth layer over her leg and stops at her thigh, “-and make it a partial split dress. The material isn’t very flexible to begin with, but it would free up the room you could have.”

Kya nudges the finger off of her leg by lightly stamping. “I don’t like the idea. I’ll be showing too much then.”

“Not a problem. We’ll just cover your back with another thin layer of cloth that acts like a cloak for the bottom half. It’ll make the split more subtle.” 'And alluring’ Klime purposely left out from being said. Kya lets out a 'hm’, sounding more agreeing to the idea now. Klime leans over to pull down both sides of the bottom half to keep his slice in line. “So do I cut?”

“Cut it,” she orders. Klime tugs down the side he’s going to snip through and begins his first incision. As he nears her leg, Kya shifts at the tingling sensation of the scissors, causing Klime to pause for her to still again. She takes a deep breath and leans more on the leg closet to Klime for more stability. He resumes the cut, starting off much more slower then before in the event that Kya moves again.

The rest of the cut goes smoothly. Kya shifts in place once Klime stood back up, testing her newfound freedom of the adjusted skirtline. She watches the shoemaker walk off to his series of shelves, returning when he picks out a black sheet of cloth matching her own dress’. He kneels down again behind her, wrapping the transparent cloth around her waist and pinches the parts that he will be using.

“Have you ever thought why the Count ignores your marriage proposals?” Klime ask as he pulls out his pins from his utility belt. There was really no reason for him to care what her reasons were, but he might as well strike up a conversation.

Kya doesn’t immediately notice the out-of-nowhere random question and takes a moment to process it; she ends up not answering anyway. Klime pins down one side of the cloth extension and repeats with the other side. He reaches back onto his belt again for his sewing needle. “I don’t know much of the Count myself, but I don’t think he would have a very good reputation if his bride was a seemingly cold and heartle–”

“You know nothing of me or what I’ve been through,” she states, her anger showing, but absent of the bitterness that he would expected to be there.

“Seemingly, Missiz Freezz. Woman are born as pure as a slip of processed leather. Soft and comfortable to wear, always trusted to withhold any temperature. It’s over time as they are worn down does the fibers begin to peel and the scars become more prominent.”

“What is this idiot trying to say?” Kya mumbles to herself, but due to their proximity, Klime was able to hear it.

Klime raises his scissors and begins to snip off the parts of the extension he doesn’t need. “The more these wounds are left untreated, the more they spread. Leather is not easy to repair at all–” Klime beings sewing in the extension with a needle that he always carried with him “–not even the best of the best leather dealers could return damaged leather back to the innocence it had once before. Perhaps close, but never quite one-hundred percent.” Klime finishes the stitching and leans backwards to stand back up.

“I grow tired of your analogy, louse.” Kya performs a small twirl to see the coverings behind her.

“The thing is, about leather–” Klime walks past the Xelor, tapping her shoulder twice “– leather is nearly irreplaceable.” Klime moves over his pile of scrap cloth and picks out a long blue frill that matches the same blue as Kya’s garment. “There's yet to exist another type of fabric to substitute for leather. Whatever there is, it is unbelievably expensive. It’s always best, both economically efficient and sensible, to attempt to repair the leather-- if it’s not already completely obliterated into ashes,” he adds the last phrase to lighten the mood. 

Kya clicks her tongue after Klime was finished, understanding what he was trying to refer to, but not wishing to acknowledge it. Klime returns to Kya’s side once more to apply on the strip of blue to the edges of the extension to match the rest of the dress’ designs.

“I believe we’re finished, Missiz Freezz.” Klime dusts off his hands and leans backwards on the floor, admiring both the dress and the model wearing it.

“Not quite.” Kya reaches behind her neck with her right arm and shifts her hair to be in front of her, revealing six blue back straps of the dress that ended down to her lower back that were still untied.

Klime was referring to modifications, but it doesn’t stop a small smile from forming at the his gradually opening client. “Of course.” 

He supports himself up with an arm, leaning forwards to stand, and takes a step to reach the collar of the dress with both hands. He briefly stretches a strap in interest. “I quite like these bands,” he comments. The binders were elastic, easily being pulled together to connect to the other side without causing discomfort to Kya. He started from the bottom band, being the easiest to tighten together, and worked his at up. 

Upon connecting the last band on top, he playfully tugs the longest strap to snap back onto Kya’s back. The woman quickly turns around to jab the shoemaker on his collar and let out a sound of disgust before taking a few steps back to align herself to a mirror.

Klime steps backwards to take a seat on one of his tables, observing the woman spin around. “If you want my personal, professional opinion, Missiz Freezz, if the Count doesn’t at least initiate a conversation with you in that, I’ll be suspicious that women in general won’t be able to catch his single mechanical eye.”

Kya scoffs at the shade and complimentary phrase. Pleased with her attire, she queries her producer, noticing that he was still in his usual outfit, “Are you not participating in the event?”

Klime waves and shakes his head. “No, I’ll just be arriving for the after party, unless the Count calls me up for something.”

Kya flips her hair back behind her and lays a hand on her hip. 'That is quite enticing, Kya’ thought Klime.

“How come?” she asks, moving over her fringe to the left side if her face.

Klime murmurs a "Hn" and answers back, “I would only share my secrets with someone really special… Besides, you’re going to run late the more you stick to chit chat.”

The Xelor sighs at the truth Klime spoke. “Well… I appreciate… what you’ve done for me,” her voice dips in volume as she struggles with the final words to Klime, being years out of practice of being grateful to another person.

Klime snorts and waves off the attempt of gratitude (though it was nice to receive from a person like Kya). “Don’t think that you can get away with a top grade gobball brocade, custom made, imported dress for free.”

Kya rolls her eyes and reaches back into the changing room for her old clothing. “It can be discussed at a later date,” she voiced with a brush-off tone as she makes her way towards the exit.

The leather dealer chuckles lowly as he watches Kya leave his suite. Just as the door closes, he could’ve sworn he saw Kya briefly turning her head around. Shaking his head of the upcoming petty daydreams he has involuntarily brewing, Klime seems to have forgotten to give the Ice Queen some advice to woo over the Count. He lightly shrugs to himself and stretches his arms that have been straining under the careful movements he had to make upon the dress. He certainly did missed the opportunity, but he really doesn't feel bad about it if Kya acts up and permanently loses her chances with Harebourg.

The man was a bit... reserved with the topic of companions anyway, remembering his reaction to an invitation to a fetish party. 

Klime scans over his workplace. He really should pick things up once in awhile, but he does find inspiration from messy environments once in awhile. A pile of blue catches his eye, a strong contrast to the rest of his red-walled room.

It was Kya's cloak. Kya forgot her cloak. 

Klime lightly groans to himself that he’ll have to arrive to the party earlier then he wanted to return the abandoned cloak, knowing that the women would blame him for withholding it, even if she's the one that left it.

But there was the idea... An excuse to encounter Kya again.

**Author's Note:**

> In reference of Kya's dress: think of the design being the same as her Wakfu one :p


End file.
